Page 36 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
"You know how." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "Your eyes. The way you move. How you fought. Whatever's happening to you?—"
"Makes you afraid?" He closed the distance to mere inches.
Heat poured off him in waves. His scent hit her: clean sweat and something wilder, sharper than before. Up close, the changes in him were even more obvious. His features had sharpened, like the already handsome man had been refined into something lethal.
"No," she answered honestly. "It doesn't make me afraid."
Surprise flickered in his expression.
"Then what does it make you feel?" His voice dropped to a growl.
The truth escaped before she could stop it. "Alive."
His pupils dilated instantly, and she took an instinctive step backward.
Her legs hit the edge of the seat. Balance failed. She fell, sprawling across the cushioned surface with a startled gasp.
He followed in the same heartbeat. One moment she was falling, the next he caged her with his body. Arms braced beside her head, thighs bracketing hers. Not touching. Surrounding.
"I can hear your heartbeat," he murmured, gaze dropping to her throat. “It’s so fast. Like prey."
She should've been terrified. Should've shoved him away, called for help. Instead, her body arched toward him.
"Is that what I am to you?" she whispered. "Prey?"
His expression darkened. "No. Never that." His hand hovered near her face, not quite touching. "You're... necessary. Like air for breathing."
The raw honesty in his voice broke something loose inside her.
"Davis." His name came out as a plea.
Whatever leash he'd kept on himself snapped. He crashed down against her, his mouth finding hers with bruising force. Not like the medbay kiss… that had been impulsive, unplanned. This was deliberate. Consuming. His lips claimed hers, tongue pushing past her gasp.
She responded instantly, arms locking around his neck, fingers digging into his hair. He tasted of heat and something alien-sweet. His stubble scraped her skin raw. Every nerve ending fired where they connected.
He pinned her to the cushions, hard muscle pressed against soft curves. One hand shoved beneath her tank top, palm scorching her ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast. She arched into the touch, wanting more.
His mouth broke from hers, teeth grazing down her throat. When he bit lightly over her pulse, she moaned.
"Wanted this for so long," he growled against her skin, voice rougher than she'd ever heard it. "Since I first saw you in that office."
"You grabbed me by the throat," she gasped as his hand finally covered her breast, thumb circling her nipple through thin cotton.
"I know." His teeth scraped her earlobe. "Wanted you even then. Wanted to take you away from him. Make you mine."
Those possessive words should have triggered alarms, reminded her of Rettnor, of control, of everything she’d escaped. Instead, they lit a fire in her veins. Because he wasn't taking. He was asking with every touch.
And fuck, she was giving. Freely.
His hands pushed her tank top up, exposing her stomach, her ribs, and the plain cotton bra. Cold air hit her skin before the heat of his mouth followed.
"Beautiful," he muttered against her sternum. His fingers made quick work of her bra clasp. When it fell away, his groan vibrated through her bones.
His mouth closed over her nipple, and she cried out. His tongue circled the sensitive peak, teeth grazing before soothing with perfect suction. She grabbed his shoulders, feeling coiled strength beneath his shirt.
“Oh God,” she gasped. "Please."
He lifted his head, eyes finding hers. The blue had nearly vanished, replaced by hungry black pupils ringed with unnatural brightness.
